


stuck on my body (like a tattoo)

by MissSugarPlum



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (with a tiny bit of angst thrown in for good measure), M/M, Not beta-read, also insecure!len, and a little bit of holiday cheer as befitting the season, fed up!len, fluffy nonsense, obliviously pining!barry, purely based off of tumblr drabbles and headcanons, so if it's choppy that's why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5534249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSugarPlum/pseuds/MissSugarPlum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Barry catches a glimpse of ink on Captain Cold's exposed wrist during a fight, and is unable to get the image out of his head. What is it? Is it just a small one, or does he have an entire sleeve? Why does he have it? These are the things Barry thinks about, when he sees Cold, when he's bored, when he's in the shower...</i><br/> </p><p>-x-</p><p>(Or, the headcanon that started it all. Written for my darling ColdFlash Secret Santa. <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	stuck on my body (like a tattoo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragdragdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragdragdragon/gifts).



> SURPRISE! It's me, it's me, I was [this wonderful girl](http://dragdragdragon.tumblr.com)'s Secret Santa this year! I've had so much fun talking and headcanonning with this lovely lovely person over the last month, and thought the best way to thank her for being so amazing was to write something based on our silly little ideas. I hope you like it, my love!!
> 
> (If you're interested in seeing just where the magic happened, all of it can be found [here](http://dragdragdragon.tumblr.com/tagged/coldflash-secret-santa))
> 
> (And if parts of this sound vaguely familiar, it's because I took some liberties and lifted them almost directly from those posts, so don't be alarmed :D)
> 
> (Title from Maroon 5's One More Night, because how could I not, with a line like that?)

1.

 

Barry dodges the icy blast of the cold gun by mere inches, mind working furiously as he tries to come up with a solid plan to foil the latest heist the Rogues have pulled. He could utilize the trick Jay taught him, hurl a bit of lightning at the man, but he’s loathe to do it, considering Captain Cold is only human. Maybe as a last resort.

 

Snart growls a little as he realizes he misses, prepares to shoot again, adjusts his grip on the gun, and that’s when Barry sees it: the tiniest glimpse of ink along the inside of Snart’s exposed wrist, curling around the skin and swirling up and out of sight underneath the sleeve of his massive parka.

 

His mind stutters as he pauses, intrigued, wondering what that permanent ink could stand for, but he quickly shakes the thought from his mind, taps into his speed even more and disarms Snart before he can get another shot in, determined to put the entire thing from his mind.

 

2.

 

“Did you know Snart has a tattoo?” he finds himself asking Caitlin and Cisco a couple of days later as the three of them lounge about STAR Labs.

 

“Yeah, dude, it was in his police file before you erased it,” Cisco says, lolling lazily about from side to side in his rolling chair. Caitlin rolls her eyes at him a little bit and reaches out to gently push his chair across the floor with one foot.

 

“Lisa’s never mentioned it,” she says hesitantly, tapping away at her computer, “but then, we tend not to talk about personal stuff too much.”

 

“Too busy getting the D to talk about her supervillain big brother, huh?” Cisco sniggers, then yelps when Caitlin throws her cordless mouse at him.

 

“Don’t be crude,” she tells him primly, holding her hand out expectantly for the mouse. “But yes, essentially.” She grins wickedly and Barry groans, makes fake retching noises as his focus shifts to joining Cisco in teasing Caitlin about her on-again, off-again fling with the notorious Golden Glider.

 

But in the back of his mind, he still wonders what could be so important to the elder Snart sibling that he felt he needed it permanently etched into his skin.

 

3.

 

Barry hurries out of Jitters haphazardly—he’s running late, a usual occurrence, to be fair, but he had accidentally fallen asleep before finishing his reports the previous night, exhausted from his patrolling of the city as the Flash, and today’s tardiness would make the third time this week—and runs straight into the solid form of someone trying to enter the coffee shop.

 

His too-hot (but just the way he likes it) coffee explodes in a fountain of fury all over the other person, and he takes half a second to bemoan the loss of his beverage before effusively trying to wipe away the coffee with the sleeve of his sweater. “Oh my god, I am so sorry!”

 

“...It’s okay,” a familiar voice rumbles bemusedly, and Barry looks up into the face of none other than Leonard Snart.

 

“What are you doing here?” his mouth asks before his brain can catch up—which, really, is saying something. Snart just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, before smirking deviously.

 

“Same as you, presumably. I’m actually quite fond of that _Flash_ drink.”

 

Barry opens his mouth to—well, he’s not sure, exactly, because he wasn’t quite expecting _that_ , when Snart pushes the sleeve of his well-fitted henley up past his elbow and attempts to shake away the coffee from his arm. Barry’s train of thought is _completely_ derailed when he sees the hint of ink from before, except this time he sees the rest of the absolute _art_ it’s connected to, the pair of ice skates on the inside of his wrist, the twist of a snow flurry snaking its way up his forearm, and he only stops staring when Snart huffs impatiently and yanks the sleeve of his shirt back down over his arm.

 

He jerks his head away hurriedly, blinking against the vision still etched in his mind. “Sorry, I’m, uh—sorry,” he mutters lamely, and, unheeding of any possible witnesses, speeds away before Snart can say anything else.

 

4.

 

Another day, another encounter with Snart—this time planned, at least on his end.

 

They’re in the middle of the street, in broad daylight, and Barry almost can’t believe the _nerve_ of this man (and if a tiny part of him possibly admires that gumption… well, nobody’s asking).

 

He hasn’t risked getting too close to the man, still wary of the cold gun after last time, still bewildered by his reaction to the beautiful lines of ink along Snart’s arm, but Snart is getting cocky, and Barry is just ready for this fight to _end_.

 

He’s distracted, and frustrated at that fact, which is why he doesn’t notice the giant pool of water, settled comfortably along the side of the road from the heavy rain of the night before, until _after_ he’s already whisked right through it.

 

The dirty rainwater shoots up in a tremendous arc and splashes all over Snart, and Barry has to stifle a laugh at the sight of Captain Cold, sopping wet and disgruntled, job momentarily forgotten. Barry watches amusedly as he wrings out the tails of his parka, lips twisted faintly in disgust, but his amusement dies abruptly when Snart lifts up the sweater underneath the jacket to wipe at his face, revealing more ink along the firm lines of his stomach.

 

Barry’s mouth goes dry as his eyes rake along Snart’s exposed skin, trying in vain to make out the designs from this distance, utterly enraptured by the sight.

 

It’s only his speed that keeps him from smacking straight into the brick wall suddenly right in front of him, and he can _feel_ the heat of embarrassment warming his cheeks against the chill in the December air. He turns back quickly to face Snart, and tries to tell himself he’s not disappointed when he sees the sweater tucked firmly back into place, no hint of a tattoo in sight.

 

5.

 

It’s a difficult topic to stop thinking about. He considers it throughout the entire rest of the day: during the remainder of his patrol, while discussing the events of the day with Cisco and Caitlin, during a very quick dinner with Joe before his foster father heads out for one of his rare graveyard shifts, and as he goes through the familiar motions of his nightly ablutions.

 

He can’t get the images out of his mind—the ice skates and the mystery of the meaning behind them, the delicate swirls of snowflakes and clouds running up Snart’s arm, the mish-mash of designs covering the flesh of his stomach, the bold strokes of ink leading deeper down, lower than his belly button, past the waistband of his snug-looking jeans—

 

He only notices just how incredibly hard he is when his dick starts leaking through the soft cotton of his briefs, and he groans out loud in frustration. For a moment he debates banging his head against the reflection of himself in the bathroom mirror, but decides he might as well take care of this problem in a way that is mostly beneficial to him and instead turns for the shower.

 

He’ll deal with the possible ramifications later, he tells himself firmly, and then all other thoughts flee his mind as he takes his cock in hand and thinks again of the ink staining Snart’s smooth skin.

 

6.

 

“Alright, Flash,” Snart says with a grim sort of finality, holstering his gun and propping the goggles high on his forehead. “This game ends now.”

 

“What game?” Barry asks confusedly, coughing up a mouthful of water as he does so. “I’m pretty sure I just saved your life, fishing you out of the river like that.”

 

Snart’s scowl is formidable, eyes glittering dangerously, and Barry really just wants to know how he managed to screw this one up. “And the comment you made, about getting me out of my clothes?”

 

Barry just stares, uncomprehending.

 

“I don’t know what advantage you’ve been hoping to gain,” Snart continues, tone quiet in a way Barry knows, from long experience, is deadly—not even the way he’s shivering in his sodden clothes takes away from that. “But it ends, _now_.”

 

“What are you—” Barry cuts himself off as his brain presents the events of the last few days to him in a new perspective, and he can feel his eyes widen almost horrifically. “Oh my god, _no_!” he hastens to assure Snart. “ _No_ , no no no, really, _no_ , that is _not_ what I was trying to—wow, this all looks really bad, doesn’t it? But I swear”—he shakes his head frantically, more fervently as the murderous glint in Snart’s eye is slowly overtaken by acute befuddlement—“Snart, I swear, I have _not_ been trying to get you out of your clothes.” _Not that I haven’t appreciated the sight_ , his mind unhelpfully supplies.

 

Something of the thought must show in his expression, because Snart’s eyes narrow and his face blanks almost completely, lips pressed into a thin white line. Barry’s at a loss, has no idea what to say to convince Snart of his sincerity, except perhaps by apologizing a thousand times over, but before he can think of anything that might actually work, he finds his mouth has started moving without his brain’s permission.

 

“Okay, no, really, you don’t believe me, I can see that—but really, I’m telling you the truth,” he insists, words tripping over each other in their haste to leave Barry’s mouth. “I wasn’t _trying_ to get you out of your clothes, it just kind of happened? I mean, not that I didn’t enjoy it, because wow I did not realize how nice your body actually is, and seriously I think I could stare at those tattoos all day long, but I didn’t realize how uncomfortable it made you? Really, I am so so sorry, I didn’t mean—” He finally registers the words he’s been saying, _out loud_ , as he takes in the widening smirk on Snart’s face, and forcefully shuts his mouth around the next handful of words with an audible _snap_.

 

There’s a low swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach, growing larger and more uncomfortable the longer Snart stares at him with that incomprehensible expression, and the intense heat of embarrassment flares through Barry and floods his cheeks.

 

“I’m just—I’m gonna go, right now, that is a thing I should be doing,” Barry babbles, unable to stop himself. Snart barks out a laugh at him, and Barry stares, because sure, he’s heard Captain Cold laugh before, but never with so much warmth, almost like he _means_ it.

 

Barry shakes himself out of his daze, blinking rapidly as his entire view of Leonard Snart starts to shift away from what he had previously known. He zips away in the middle of a round of Snart’s laughter, cheeks still hot, and does his best not to trip over himself in his distracted state.

 

(And if he _does_ trip, falls flat on his face and breaks his nose on the pavement? Well. It heals completely by the time he gets to STAR Labs, and he’s getting good at ignoring the pointed looks Caitlin keeps sending his way.)

 

7.

 

Of course, now that he’s actively trying to avoid the man, Barry can’t seem to stop running into him.

 

He had decided to go out for a run at normal speed, to give himself something to focus on besides the distracting art of Snart’s body, and to his delighted surprise, it actually seems to be working.

 

He’s on the last leg of his run, near the outskirts of Central City, approaching the tall bridge crossing one of the many creeks running off from the river, when he sees a lean figure leaning over the edge of the bridge, admiring the city skyline.

 

The man—for it’s clearly a man, and a very good-looking one, at that—reaches up to wipe at his face, then wrinkles his nose before ripping off his hoodie and using the bunched-up fabric to wipe at his face again, and only then, at the sight of now-familiar body art decorating those bared arms, does Barry realize the person is Leonard Snart.

 

Of course.

 

His feet automatically take him toward the man, and he can hear the smirk in his voice, though he doesn’t turn around, when Snart greets him.

 

“Barry.”

 

The man turns and Barry can’t take it anymore, has been going slowly crazy since that first glimpse of ink on Snart’s wrist—he stares at the smirk—almost-smile, really—gracing Snart’s lips, the twinkle of mischief in his eye as if he _knows_ what he’s doing to Barry, the quirk of his eyebrows, like he’s just _daring_ Barry to—

 

Barry takes a half step forward and kisses him.

 

8.

 

A week later, and Barry still can’t believe he let Snart get to him like that, that he let himself lose it so completely.

 

Kissing his enemy. What even.

 

He hasn’t seen him since, and he firmly tells himself to be glad about that fact. But he must jinx himself, because of course Cisco calls him with a report that the Rogues have hit the science museum and are going to _town_.

 

The fight is a strange one, even by the Rogues’ standards, almost as if their hearts aren’t truly in it. Snart is in top form, though, snippy and cold and frustrating Barry with his constant allusions to his actual identity, and it’s only _after_ Barry snaps and speeds him into the forest, far away from the others, that he realizes the misdirection, realizes it was all a ploy.

 

Slammed roughly against the trunk of a tree, Snart pressed firmly to his front and with Snart’s tongue in his mouth, the message is loud and clear.

 

9.

 

 _Is this really happening right now?_ is the only thought running through Barry’s mind for a solid minute and a half.

 

In his defense, Snart _really_ knows how to use his tongue.

 

Barry moans into Snart’s mouth, hands clutching at Snart’s upper arms desperately as Snart pushes a knee between his legs. Snart is already hard against him, heavy and hot even through the layers separating them, and Barry’s eyes open wide on a gasp as Snart shifts his hips just _so_. The bottom of Snart’s light sweater is rucked up, revealing a tantalizing inch of decorated skin, and heat rushes through Barry and he _wants_.

 

In less than a blink of an eye, he switches their positions, pressing Snart against the tree and leaving him blinking at the sudden switch. Barry promptly drops to his knees, fingers pushing up at Snart’s sweater almost desperately, moaning at the sight of all that beautifully smooth skin painted like a canvas, each stroke of ink masterful and leaving Barry wanting more, more, _more_.

 

He leans forward, mouthing at the skin just above Snart’s hips, clenching his eyes shut tight at the strangled groan that tears its way out of Snart’s throat. He palms Snart’s dick through his jeans, hard and thick and pulsing with desire, and Snart _shudders_ , grasps roughly at Barry, yanks him back up to standing height and slams their mouths back together.

 

Barry kisses him back frenziedly, hand dropping to Snart’s hip and clutching there, fingers tracing wild circles against the dark ink there, and Snart breaks off with a gasp, almost trembling under Barry’s ministrations.

 

“God, you’re incredible,” he pants out, eyes molten with liquid desire, and it’s the work of every bit of restraint Barry is capable of to not vibrate out of existence, right then and there.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he growls back, and Snart’s pupils dilate even further at the husky quality of Barry’s voice. He lets out a pained noise that sounds closer to a _whimper_ than anything Barry’s ever heard from him, and the burning _need_ he has to _take_ this man, with lips and fingers and teeth, to take him apart at the very _seams_ , overrides everything else in Barry’s brain. “Let me take you somewhere more comfortable,” he almost begs, and Snart is nodding frantically before he even finishes his sentence.

 

Barry whisks them away not a second later.

 

10.

 

They stay in Barry’s bed for _hours_.

 

Barry strips off each piece of Snart’s—Len’s—clothing carefully, mesmerized by every newly-exposed inch of his skin. He takes time to lavish attention everywhere he can to ease the discomfort he knows is making Len’s shoulders tense, because this man is beautiful and he deserves for someone to show him that. Barry _aches_ with the knowledge that he can be that person, is almost overwhelmed by it.

 

Barry absolutely _worships_ his body, runs his fingers over every stroke of black ink, traces every faintly raised scar on his body with his tongue, bites softly into the ample flesh of his skin, sucks gentle marks into the crease of his hips, the surprisingly sensitive hollow behind his ear.

 

Once Len is naked save for his tight black boxer briefs, Barry pushes up from him, taking a step back to admire the view of him in all his glory. Len is breathing sharply, each rise of his chest drawing Barry’s attention to the intricate detail of swirling ink, covering and complementing old scars and telling more of his story than he ever could with words.

 

Barry falls forward again, draping his body across the sturdy form beneath him, and reaches a hand up to cup Len’s strong jaw, fingers caressing the skin behind his ear, thumb gently pushing his head up so his mouth aligns with Barry’s.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Barry whispers, waits until Len dips his head down slightly before capturing his lips in a chaste kiss. “Let me show you what I see.”

 

“Yes,” Len whispers back, then arches his head up so he can meet Barry squarely for a deep kiss.

 

Barry maps out the ink drawn across the planes of Len’s skin with nimble fingers and a deft tongue, traces over every inch of every tattoo, nails scraping lightly and mouth laving gently. He reaches the spot just below Len’s ribs, right above the delicate curve of an intricate snowflake, when the skin beneath his nose starts to tremble and a sharp burst of laughter erupts from Len’s mouth.

 

Barry looks up to catch his gaze, startled at the surprising outburst of intense ticklishness, only to see Len’s head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut, mouth open wide as he tries to gulp in air around his convulsive laughter.

 

“You can’t—do that,” he gasps out, heaving in a huge breath of air and swallowing loudly. His eyes are sparkling with suppressed mirth and just a hint of tears from laughing so hard, and a joyous grin is threatening to overtake his entire face. It slides off in the next moment though, and Barry can see traces of uncertainty start to crawl across his features as he realizes just how open and carefree he’s been with someone who has the ability to use this against him, who’s supposed to be his _enemy_.

 

Barry catches Len’s face between his hands before he can retreat physically and stares earnestly into his eyes, willing him not to withdraw from him, letting the startlingly strong emotion he feels pour out of his gaze. “Please don’t,” he murmurs, stroking at Len’s temples when he shuts his eyes tightly, coaxing him into opening them again. “Don’t be afraid.”

 

He kisses the tip of Len’s nose gently, kisses the creases at the corner of Len’s eyes, the furrow between his brows, the apples of his cheekbones, before delicately pressing his lips to Len’s once more. Len seems to melt into the kiss, parting his lips and letting Barry deepen it slowly, and Barry lets himself get lost in the sensation, in _Len_.

 

He kisses him for what feels like an eternity, but stops before things get any more heated—he’s sure they could find their rhythm of before easily, everything quick and passionate and so searingly _hot_ , but he’s not so certain it’s the right time for that, not anymore.

 

“It’s okay,” he mumbles against Len’s lips before pulling away fully and bestowing a gentle, sleepy smile upon him. He burrows down into the comfort of Len’s arms, lets himself be lulled by the heat radiating off the other man, and sighs contentedly as Len tightens his hold and relaxes against him.

 

They drift off together, dozing peacefully, and Barry’s heart is full to bursting.

 

This is not what he expected to happen, when he first brought Len here, but damned if he’d trade it for anything in the world right now.

 

11.

 

Barry only wakes up once during the night, fuzzy and disoriented. He’s alarmed for a split second at the arms that tighten instinctively around him, but he’s warm and so, so comfortable.

 

_Snart._

 

_Pressed against a tree._

 

_Rutting against each other._

 

_Taking him home._

 

 _Absolutely_ **_worshipping_ ** _his body._

 

_Taking comfort in each other’s embrace._

 

_Feeling more safe than he’s ever felt in someone’s arms, sleeping more peacefully than he ever has._

 

He tenses, mind suddenly wary and sharp, on high alert, but when another beat passes and Len only sighs softly, mumbling a little and curling his body tighter around Barry’s, he allows himself to relax, burrowing deeper into Len’s embrace and drifting off once more.

 

He’ll make breakfast in the morning. Eggs and bacon, definitely, and maybe pancakes too, if he’s got the stuff to make them.

 

Len snuffles against his hair softly, and Barry grins sleepily in his hold.

 

Definitely pancakes.

 

12.

 

Once they get over the awkwardness of the morning and find that comfortable place they had gotten to the previous day, Barry’s surprised by the ease and familiarity of it all, as if they’ve been doing this for ages. They fit together perfectly, the ragged edges of each of them soothed by the other, and Barry is utterly smitten with the thought.

 

They’re sitting side by side on Barry’s couch, pressed closely together from shoulder to hip, combatting the dreary weather and the thin walls of Barry’s apartment with a soft, thick blanket and large cups of cocoa. Barry’s relieved to see Len become more and more himself the longer they sit together, the hesitant smiles and uncertain glances replaced with comfortable smirks and corny humor, and he laughs, long and loud, when Len cracks the most ridiculous pun he’s ever heard.

 

Len starts laughing himself at Barry’s continued laughter, and Barry stares at the sight presented to him, enchanted by the carefree sound. Len chuckles softly at him, eyes bright as he pulls Barry in for a tiny kiss.

 

It turns into something more, deeper and more satisfying, and Barry loses himself in the feeling, leans forward and loses his balance, tipping them both over and upsetting their mugs. Barry can’t keep his laughter in and Len leans in to kiss it right out of his mouth before his lips curve upward too and they sit with their mouths pressed together, grinning softly at each other.

 

“Stay here today, with me?” Barry finally murmurs to him, breaking the peaceful silence, and Len hums a little noncommittally, closing his eyes and nosing gently at Barry’s temple.

 

“What did you have in mind?” Len trails his nose down Barry’s hairline, just behind his ear, and Barry shivers at the soft puff of breath he exhales there.

 

“Just decorating the tree,” he breathes out shakily, flapping one hand in a vague motion to where the artificial tree Joe got him when he moved out the first time sits, just waiting to be assembled and adorned with ornaments.

 

“I’m not usually too big on Christmas,” Len warns, leaning back just enough to consider Barry through narrowed eyes. But it’s not a no, and Barry figures he can work with that.

 

“I’ve got enough Christmas spirit for the both of us, don’t worry,” he promises, and he smiles brightly at the reluctant grin he can see peeking out from the corners of Len’s mouth. “Please?”

 

Len deliberates for a moment longer, and Barry is just starting to fidget, the first tendrils of anxiety creeping up on him, when Len relaxes the tense set of his shoulders, smiles softly at Barry, warmth and intense affection heady in his gaze. “Sounds like a plan,” he says softly, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Barry’s mouth.

 

Barry hums merrily, angles his face slightly to capture Len’s lips in a more thorough kiss, tasting the crisp flavor of Len’s mouth under the remnants of strawberry syrup and the overtones of hot chocolate, feeling a piece of him slot perfectly into place against Len.

 

He traces the skin of Len’s wrist with a careful finger, admiring the angles of the intricate snowflake he can see out of the corner of his eye, and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://that-pumpkinspicewhitegirl.tumblr.com)!


End file.
